


two boys

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Airplanes, Cuddling, Dejan's Other Boyfriends Mention, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Zenit, Zenit St. Petersburg, lovesick artem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: Dejan doesn’t feel right on the plane home after losing to Dortmund, even though he knows he played his best and more.  He gave his all for his new team, and he’s proud of it.It’s his captain, though, the one who takes up as much space in Dejan’s head as he does everywhere else he goes.  He hasn’t been right the past few games, and today he was barely there all alone on the attack, just a ghost in his white away kit.  That’s not how a captain should be, and Dejan doesn’t want to see it happen anymore.  He’s not worried or anything.  He just doesn’t want to see it, that’s all.
Relationships: Dejan Lovren & Artem Dzyuba, Sardar Azmoun/Artem Dzyuba, Sardar Azmoun/Artem Dzyuba/Dejan Lovren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	two boys

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to mincolla for the brainstorming and uwus
> 
> I've been wanting to write something that _wasn't_ porn for forever...yesterday's Champions League game versus Dortmund broke my heart for very specific reasons, and this little fic appeared.

Dejan doesn’t feel right on the plane home after losing to Dortmund, even though he knows he played his best and more. He gave his all for his new team, and he’s proud of it.

It’s his captain, though, the one who takes up as much space in Dejan’s head as he does everywhere else he goes. He hasn’t been right the past few games, and today he was barely there all alone on the attack, just a ghost in his white away kit. That’s not how a captain should be, and Dejan doesn’t want to see it happen anymore. He’s not _worried_ or anything. He just doesn’t want to see it, that’s all.

Artem’s sitting up in the front where he can stretch his legs out. He’s lying there on his pillow with his airpods in, but he looks sad. No one looks sad when they sleep. So he’s not sleeping.

Dejan sits down in the empty seat next to him and takes one of Artem’s headphones, slips it into his own ear. It’s rap and it’s in Russian and it’s loud. Artem doesn’t open his eyes, but his face twitches at the intrusion. 

“Listening to this shit, it’ll make you feel worse. What _is_ this?”

With his eyes still closed, Artem slaps him hard in the face and grabs his headphone back. “Don’t fuck with me now, Lovren.”

Sitting here in the quiet with not much to hear other than the whining engine and someone’s music playing softly from headphones somewhere behind him, a couple of the guys laughing even more softly in the back of the plane—he knew all the Liverpool guys’ laughs by heart, but he keeps remembering he’s still more new here than he thinks— Dejan realizes he might finally have the upper hand with Artem for the first time. The big dude’s…off right now. And _he’s_ not.

And it doesn’t feel nearly as good as he would have thought it would.

His cheek stings a little, and with Artem’s eyes still stubbornly closed, Dejan feels… _rejected_. And he doesn’t like that. 

And he hates seeing his captain like this. That’s all it is, right? All it must be.

He puts his hand on Artem’s strong shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Fuck off, Lovren. Fuck _off_ , or I’ll do something _unprofessional_.”

“Pretty sure we’ve already…” Dejan’s voice trails off as Artem’s phone lights up. He can see very clearly on the screen--a message from Sardar. Well, a whole bunch of them, from the look of it.

“Brate,” Dejan says, carefully. “Check your phone. That’s all.”

Artem opens his eyes and stares at his phone. He unlocks it faster than Dejan’s ever seen anyone do before, and Dejan leaves him to it, heading back to where he’d been sitting with Timo.

“How’s the big guy doing, huh?” Timo asks in German.

“He’s a mess, brate.”

“Did you cheer him up?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Timo sighs. “The past few games for him…You’re starting to seem like better captain material, you know?”

“I’m _starting_ to? _Starting_ to?” Dejan pulls Timo’s pillow out from behind him and hits him with it. Someone gives them a big, hearty _“SHHHHHHH,_ I’m trying to sleep!” from a couple rows up.

Dejan gets a text. It’s from Artem. COME BACK.

“Uhhh, I guess I did cheer him up, actually,” Dejan says. “I’m going to go do some more of that. You’re safe for now, brate…but I’ll kill you when I get back.”

“Sure you will, Dejan. Sure you will.”

Dejan walks as quickly as he can without seeming too obvious (and not so quick that his socks slip on the airplane carpet—that’s not really the mood he’s going for tonight.) Artem’s sitting up straight, his phone in his hand and his Zenit jacket over his lap like the world’s stupidest blanket.

“Sit.”

“What do you think I was going to—” Dejan manages to shut himself up. He sits.

“I played without Sardar for most of my career,” Artem says. “Fuck, I didn’t even know he existed back then.”

“Yeah.”

“And now—I look for him on the pitch, and he’s not there, and if I can’t see him, then something—” He puts a dramatic hand on his chest, but it’s genuine. “Something in me is just…it’s not there, you know?”

“Mmmmm,” Dejan says. He doesn’t totally know, no _._ Not in the same way. But he understands. 

“And I’m out there suddenly like, what am I doing?”

“What do you mean, what are you doing? You don’t know what you’re doing standing in the middle of the pitch?”

“Fuck you, Lovren. You know what I mean.”

“You’re playing football, that’s what you’re doing. It doesn’t matter who is there or not there, you are still there to fight for us. You know?”

“Yeah, I know. Guess I just didn’t realize…” More messages from Sardar. Artem chews on his lip. “Didn’t realize…”

“There are people I’m far away from. You think I like that? That every day I don’t think of them and feel—” He squeezes Artem’s shoulder again and no threats come his way. “Like you do?”

“Mmmm.”

“All I’m saying is, I miss people too, you know?” Dejan says. “And _he_ doesn’t care that we lost, look. He misses _you_.”

“ _Us,_ ” Artem says, and that huge grin is back on his face, or at least something that looks a little like it. “The shit he just texted me, you should see it.”

He holds something up for Dejan to read. Dejan squints. “I can barely read that, what does it say?”

“He asks how many times we’ve fucked on the plane so far, and if he can see a video.”

Fuck, it’s the exact kind of thing Šime would say. Dejan’s heart twitches a little, just a little, and then recovers. _See, you big dumbass. You’re not special. You’re not the only person who misses people._

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that if his cute little Turkmen ass wants to see a video of us he has to pay me.” Artem winks at Dejan and suddenly Dejan’s thinking it. _I like this guy_. Artem Dzyuba, biggest fucking pain in the ass he’s met in quite some time. He kind of likes him.

“That’s how you talk to your—”

“To my what? Hmmmm?”

“To—”

“To my Sardar.”

Dejan sighs. “Tyoma.” He uses the name Sardar uses. “Brate. Bratka. You’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah? And so is your Russian. Where are you learning to speak my beautiful language, huh?”

“From _you._ Right?” He tries to do that weird thing Artem likes to do—flick his nose or whatever—but Artem catches him and pulls him _hard_ so they’re right next to each other now, almost— _cuddling_ , or something Dejan doesn’t think he should want to be doing with Artem.

Artem kisses him on the cheek. “My Dejan. My World Cup winner.”

“Silver, technically.”

“I said _winner_.” Artem smells nice and clean and _good_ , and even sitting down he manages to seem impossibly big and tall. “Let’s make him happy. Let’s call him.”

“Yeah, I remember the last time we all _called_ each other. It wasn’t really relaxing, brate.”

“Not that kind of call, damn. What am I gonna do with you two, huh?” Artem hands him one of his headphones. “Come here. Look pretty for him.”

When Sardar picks up Dejan’s dick does a little jump. He misses his pretty teammate. Artem’s got surprisingly good taste.

“This isn’t what I asked for,” Sardar says. “Where’s my video, Tyoma?”

“You want a video of me and Dejan, why don’t you show up and play the next game. I don’t give a shit about your _tonsillitis._ ”

“Oh? So it _wasn’t_ you who came over the other day and brought me soup and carried me to bed and sucked my dick? Just someone who looked like you and had a mouth just like yours?”

Artem sighs. “This fucking guy.”

Sardar grins at Dejan. “He cares about my tonsillitis.”

“You should see him. He’s moping around out there on the pitch, getting subbed off at halftime, all because you’re not here.”

“ _Tyomaaaaa…_ ” Sardar sighs. “Don’t do that. We need you to be strong for us.”

He leans close and licks his lips slowly, slowly. Dejan feels Artem shiver, and his big hand drifts down Dejan’s back and around his hips to squeeze his thigh. 

“I thought it wasn’t going to be that kind of call,” Dejan says. “Keep it in your pants, yeah?”

“Well, when he sticks out his tongue like that…” Artem moves his hand, though, and wraps it tight around Dejan’s shoulder again. He nudges Dejan’s head so it’s resting against his neck. Artem smells _really_ good. Fuck, they’re _cuddling._

“Awww, look at you,” Sardar says. “My two boys…”

“We’re not boys, we’re _men_ ,” Dejan and Artem say at the same time, and Dejan can’t help but laugh.

“Nah,” Sardar says. “Two cute boys. Cuties.”

“Fuck, I’m not _cute,_ ” Artem says, grinning at Sardar the way he always does. His whole face is lit up in the darkness, brighter than the light from the screen. “I’m hanging up on you for that. I love you. And I’m coming over tomorrow.”

“I love you too, Tyoma. Bye, Dejan.”

Sardar hangs up before Artem can. He’s fast. He’s good. They’re good together.

Artem sighs and Dejan feels his whole big, strong body relax. Artem. He _misses_ people just the way Dejan does. Maybe, in some ways, he misses them even harder. And he makes Dejan laugh, and his big, strong shoulders feel nice to lean on. Dejan has to admit it.

Artem kisses him on the cheek again. “My Dejan,” he says, and his voice is tired but it’s happy now, too. “Stay with me.”

It’s an order, not a question. Just like Dejan would say. Just like he’d say it.

“Fine. But only cause it'd make Sardar happy."

“Mmmm.” Artem turns the music back on, and that’s when Dejan remembers he’s still got a headphone in one ear.

“Fuck, come on. Turn this off, brate. Bratka.”

“No,” Artem says. He wraps his arms around Dejan’s waist now. Does he have to squeeze so tight? Dejan guesses he does. “You stay right here.”

“Don’t worry, Artem—”

“Tyoma.”

“Tyoma. I’m staying right here.”

He takes Artem’s headphone out of his ear, though, and puts it in his pocket. Artem can’t get _everything_ he wants. 


End file.
